Chapter Four

 

She woke to the sound of screaming.

In the dim early morning light, she could see that she was alone in her bedchamber, so the woman’s screaming voice must be coming from another room.

Wrapping a shawl around herself, she hurried out into the hallway to see what was happening.

The door to Juliette’s room was open, so she headed there. But now that her mind was almost as awake as her body, she realized that this portended only trouble.

Juliette and Louisa stood together at the foot of the bed, holding each other, shaking and crying.

“You!” Juliette shrieked when she saw Hannah. “How could you?”

“What have you found now?” Hannah asked with a sigh.

“Show her,” Juliette ordered her sister.

With obvious reluctance, Louisa reached down to pick up a piece of fabric. It was a thin piece of dirty white linen, the type used to make a shroud.

As Hannah stepped closer, she could see words in some sort of brown ink or paint:

You will be mine.

Despite the warmth of the sun shining through the windowpanes, she shivered.

“You evil witch!” Juliette declared. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

She collapsed into sobs as her mother rushed into the room and swept her into a fierce embrace. “There, there, my darling,” she soothed. “You have nothing to fear.”

“Make her leave, Mama,” Juliette insisted.

“Yes,” her mother soothed, “we will take care of everything.”

“You promised. If there was any more about Belznickel, you said you’d make Hannah leave.”

Aunt Dahlgren pulled back for a moment, glancing at the crude message on the linen shroud. “You believe your own cousin would do this to you?”

“Yes,” Juliette insisted. “She wants to make me look foolish so she can have Charles for herself.”

Louisa stepped up to her mother. “I think she wants Phillip.”

“Hannah,” Aunt Dahlgren said in a low voice. “I think it best if you return to your room now. Your uncle and I will come speak with you presently. Please make sure you are dressed.”

With a nod, Hannah turned and fled the room.

 

It was a surprisingly short time later that she heard a knock on her door. “It’s unlocked,” she called listlessly.

“Hannah,” her aunt said as she stepped into the room. “The polite response would be ‘you may enter.’ Your response was entirely inappropriate.”

“It will not matter since I will be leaving,” Hannah mumbled. She was surprised to find that the prospect of leaving so suddenly did not please her at all.

“And you must not mumble,” her aunt continued.

Her uncle waved for her to be quiet. “We’ve an important matter to discuss, Niece. About this Beltsnickle character.”

“Belznickel.” Hannah raked her hands back through her hair. “It was a story I made up. I admit that I wanted to frighten my cousins, at least a little. But I’ve done nothing since. All I did was make up the story. You must believe me.”

Uncle Dahlgren shook his head. “None of this makes any sense.”

“I agree, Uncle.”

“If you did not do it,” he mused, “surely Juliette would not torture herself so. And Louisa is not half so clever as to—”

“Mr. Dahlgren!” her aunt remonstrated.

“In any case,” he continued, “I do not think Louisa would go so far. I know I have not had time for such cruel pranks and neither has your aunt. What would you have us believe? That our guests have been sneaking into your cousin’s bedchamber with notes and shrubbery?”

Hannah began to cry.

“Perhaps one of the servants…” her aunt suggested.

He considered for a moment. “It is just possible. I believe some of the staff were expecting rather more Christmas generosity than is my wont and perhaps some one or more of them has decided to enact a revenge of sorts. I shall have Collins look into the matter.”

Her aunt patted her on the back. “Do not worry, my dear. I am sure we will have the guilty party apprehended before the day is done.”

 

Guilt was adjudged well before the end of the day, as it turned out.

After Hannah had finished writing letters and reading the day’s scripture, she retired to the conservatory with her sketching pencils and her portable writing desk. As she settled onto her customary perch and opened the lap desk, however, she immediately realized she had a mess on her hands. One of the pots of ink must have come uncorked, because brown ink was smeared across the paper she stored inside.

Of course, then it immediately got all over her hands. She set the desk down and looked for something with which to wipe her finger.

The door opened, which surprised her, and in stepped her cousins and aunt, which surprised her further still.

“Good afternoon,” she said stiffly.

“What do you have there?” Juliette asked.

Hannah tried to hide her messy hands behind her back. “Nothing. I was just standing up to stretch before I go back to my drawing.”

“Can I see what you’ve been working on?” she asked.

“No!” Hannah rushed over to the lap desk. “That is, I’m not ready for anyone to see it until it is finished.” She would be horrified if her cousins found the picture of Phillip she had sketched.

“Oh surely you can show us,” Juliette smiled. “We are family after all.” She reached for the lap desk.

“Yes, dear.” Her aunt stepped forward, blocking Hannah’s efforts to stop Juliette from picking up the portable desk. “Remember, family trusts one another.”

“No,” Hannah tried to pull the lap desk from Juliette’s hands, but she twisted away. “I will be happy to show you later but—”

Juliette uttered a shriek as she opened the hinged lid. “Oh, my! Oh, horrors!”

Louisa leaned in to see. “It’s a picture of Phillip!”

“No, not that, you ninny,” Juliette insisted. “Look at the paintbrush.”

“Paintbrush?” Hannah pushed Louisa aside so she could see what Juliette referred to.

And then she knew that Juliette had beaten her at last.

The brown mess inside her lap desk had been caused not by an open bottle of ink but by a wet paintbrush. A paintbrush wet with brown paint. Paint the color of the writing on the shroud in Juliette’s room.

“But I do not keep paintbrushes in my sketching desk,” she protested weakly. It was a wasted effort. No one would ever believe her innocent now.

“Get yourself upstairs to your bedchamber this moment,” her aunt growled through clenched teeth, “and do not leave your room until we’ve made arrangements for your transportation.”

“But you cannot send me back to school this early,” Hannah protested. “The buildings will remain closed up and locked until the fourteenth of January.”

“School?” her aunt scoffed. “I cannot send you back to Miss Baldwin’s now. Hers is an establishment for young ladies of quality. I would despoil my reputation to send someone of your ill-breeding and immorality back under her roof.”

“But I did not—”

“Do not lie to me again!” Aunt Dahlgren roared. “I trusted you. We gave you the benefit of the doubt. And now even in the face of incontrovertible evidence you still lie to us!”

“I swear, I did not—”

“Are you grown deaf as well as dissolute? I said to take yourself upstairs. You are no longer fit to be in company in this house.”

With her eyes blinded by tears, Hannah made her way through the familiar maze of potted plants and out into the passage. Maids and footmen who had obviously been listening to the whole exchange now pretended to be cleaning the same section of walls and floor. Pushing past them, she stumbled up the stairs and into her chamber.

This would be her prison now, until it was time to be sent home in ignominy. There would be no more conversations with Phillip. Her aunt’s voice You are no longer fit to be in company in this house,echoed through her head.

And when her stepmother learned of her disgrace, who knew what punishment she would inflict? She would very likely send Hannah away even farther, perhaps to India, where she could disgrace or embarrass them only from afar.

To think it all stemmed from her silly story! It was as if the Belznickel in her tale had taken on a life of his own. They might never find out who was truly responsible for the message and the rose bush and the shoes. But they would blame Hannah forever.

* * * * *

The rest of that day and all through the next, there was more activity than usual to see from her window, and she watched it all. Preparations for the early Twelfth Night Party. Charles Peniur and her uncle rode out at least twice. Phillip went out and was gone for several hours. Grocers came bringing crates of fruits and casks of sugar for the kitchen, farmers drove up with eggs and milk, merchants brought wine, extra servants arrived to wash the floors, and an army of children from the local village walked up, apparently hired to pick up stray sticks and leaves along the drive leading up to the house. This last group proved especially amusing and she felt very lonely as she watched them skip back to the village. She felt she belonged with them.

Tears once more brimmed out of her eyes to trace a well-worn path down her cheeks as she stared out the window at the cold clear colors of another winter twilight.

A knock sounded at the door. “Miss Hannah?” Polly asked. “May I come in?”

“Please do,” she answered.

Polly opened the door and quickly stepped into the room. “Aw, miss, please don’ cry.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannah sniffed. “It’s just that I—this—I just don’t belong here. I want to go home.”

With unusual timidity, Polly stepped forward and opened her arms just wide enough.

Hannah took the invitation and was soon sobbing on Polly’s shoulder. “I-I don’t care if I’m supposed to be a lady now that I’m grown. I d-don’t want to be one.” She sniffed and looked about for a handkerchief. “I don’t want to go to parties and stand making conversation or go to the opera to sit making conversation.”

“Ah,” Polly held her at arm’s length so she could look her in the eyes. “But now ye know how to do those things, miss. An’ maybe that’s why ye were sent here?”

Hannah felt the tightness in her chest loosen. Could it be that simple? “Yes, perhaps you are right. Perhaps I do not need to want these things, but perhaps if I can make my way through an event, and show myself fit for company, perhaps that may indeed be sufficient to satisfy my stepmother.” She would not then be returning home in defeat after all.

“Oh.” Then her hopes plummeted. “But once Papa and my stepmother learn of my disgrace here, they will believe me to have failed.”

Polly smiled. “We can help you with that. I don’ think yer aunt will dare write anything about the whole incident.”

“Why not?”

Polly peered out the window. “It’s gettin’ dark. Guests will be comin’ in for the party soon. This would be a perfect time to have a talk with the mistress.”

“Are you mad?” Hannah asked. “She will be distracted with last minute preparations.”

Polly grinned. “That’s her problem, in’it?”

* * * * *

Hannah followed Polly down the servant’s staircase at the end of the passage. There they were to wait at the bottom of the stairs until Polly received a signal from one of the footmen.

“What is this all about?” Hannah asked more than once.

Polly only shook her head and grinned.

Despite her misgivings, Hannah found that Polly’s sense of optimism had lifted her mood considerably. The realization that she could return home knowing that she had fulfilled her charge gradually made her feel as if she were growing wings. She would soon be free and home again.

There was just that little matter of leaving in disgrace…

Polly tugged her sleeve. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Once they were out in the main passage, Polly pushed her out in front. “Go up near the door where ye can listen.”

The sound of happy voices wafted out toward them.

Hannah froze. “What if my aunt sees me?”

“She will be distracted,” Polly promised. “Just get close and listen.”

Hannah crept closer.

Phillip’s voice was the first one she could distinguish. “I realize that you are all quite busy with preparations, but I have a gift to make and I felt it must be done now.”

“A gift?” Louisa asked with the excited voice of a child.

“How thoughtful of you,” Juliette exclaimed in her best smooth “mistress of the manor” voice.

An exclamation of “oohs” and “aahs” followed.

“As you are soon to be my sisters,” Phillip continued, “I wish you to have these filigree brooches that have been in our family for…for some time.”

“I don’t remember seeing them,” Charles commented.

“How much attention did you pay to Mother’s jewelry?” Phillip asked.

“As little as possible,” Charles admitted.

“Those are beautiful, Phillip,” her aunt said warmly. “And I am certain my daughters appreciate such a meaningful gift.”

“My only regret,” Phillip said in a sorrowful tone, “is that they are so dusty. I had hoped to find a fine brush like a paintbrush to clean the scrollwork so that you might wear them tonight if you wished.”

“I have a paintbrush,” Louisa exclaimed.

Hannah held her breath.

“Forgive me,” Phillip sounded surprised. “I did not realize that either of you painted.”

“Well, we do not, as a general rule. But,” Louisa continued, “Juliette asked me to borrow a couple of paintbrushes from Hannah, since she had so many and we probably paid for them with our father’s money anyway.”

You did not, Hannah fumed silently. I bought those myself.

Then she realized what Louisa had just admitted in front of everyone.

She stepped closer to the door so she could see what was happening.

Juliette and Louisa sat together on a sofa while her aunt sat in a chair across from them and Phillip and Charles stood nearby.

Phillip stepped in front of Louisa. “You said that Juliette asked you to borrow paintbrushes?”

“Yes.” Louisa nodded.

“No, Sister,” Juliette gave a nervous laugh, “I am sure you are mistaken.”

Polly nudged Hannah. “I heard her ask,” she whispered.

“So,” Phillip continued, “why would Juliette want a paintbrush if she does not paint?”

“To clean jewelry?” Louisa suggested.

There was a long pause.

Aunt Dahlgren shook her head sorrowfully. “Juliette, you didn’t?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “Why would I paint a horrifying message for myself?”

“Oh, I don’t believe you did that,” Phillip said as he turned toward her.

“Then,” Juliette laughed again, “what does it matter whether I borrowed one of Hannah’s paintbrushes?”

He stepped closer to her. “I said I don’t believe you painted the message. I do, however, believe that you left a brush dripping with brown paint inside Hannah’s lap desk so that everyone would think she painted the message.”

Juliette looked away. “That’s absurd.”

“Then what for what purpose did you borrow the brush?” Phillip asked.

Louisa and Aunt Dahlgren looked at Juliette.

Juliette looked at the floor. “I wanted to learn how to paint,” she said at last. “I was jealous that Hannah had learned to paint and we had not.”

“Well I paid for lessons,” her mother sputtered in anger. “You said you didn’t care to get paint on your hands.”

Louisa frowned at her sister. “I liked our art lessons. You told Mama that I wanted to quit, but really I did not.”

Juliette waved for her sister to be quiet. “This is all beside the point,” she said with impatience as she turned to Phillip. “You said that I did not paint the message. Since Hannah had both paint and brushes, then she must have done it.”

Phillip shook his head. “Not so. The message was not written in paint. Or in ink.” He turned away and paced back to his earlier station next to Charles. “It was written in blood.”

Hannah felt her face contort in a grimace and noticed that her aunt and cousins had done the same.

“How would you know that, Phillip? Charles asked in a curious drawl. “Unless you’d left the message yourself?”

“Saliva will begin to dissolve a bloodstain in linen,” Phillip explained. “It will not dissolve ink or paint.”

The women grimaced again.

“Indeed?” Charles asked.

“Our stepmother showed me once. She insisted that I learn to sew on a button, so that I should not be helpless without a valet.”

“Bah,” Charles said dismissively. “You can always find another servant.”

“In any case, I was clumsy with a needle. She showed me how to get out the bloodstains.” He looked toward the door. “And now I will be forever grateful to her.” He beckoned for Hannah to come into the room. “I believe you owe this young lady an apology?”

Her aunt hurried forward to embrace her. “Oh Hannah, dear, I am so sorry I doubted you.”

“But, Mama,” Louisa interrupted. “Mightn’t she still have taken the shoes and left the rosebush? And maybe even written the note in blood?”

“I do not think so,” her aunt said warmly.

“Well, I do,” Juliette muttered.

“You’d best keep your opinion to yourself then,” her mother retorted.

“Please do, Miss Dahlgren,” Phillip added. “Or else I will be more than pleased to tell all the party guests about your adventures in painting. You have invited everyone in the neighborhood, have you not?”

Charles stepped closer to his brother. “Phillip!” he growled. “Do you not remember our agreement?”

Phillip nodded curtly. “I remember it. And now I consider it at an end. If the truth upsets and displeases your betrothed, so be it.”

“Papa will be most displeased.”

“He will be displeased over more than this before too long.” Phillip gave him a rueful smile. “I think you may expect to be the favorite son for years to come.”

The Dahlgren’s butler stepped up the door with a military bearing that captured all of their attention.

“Yes, Matthews?” her aunt asked.

He bowed. “Forgive the interruption, madam. The musicians have arrived and you had given instructions that they were to rehearse in here.”

Aunt Dahlgren leapt to her feet. “Heavens, we’ve no time! Upstairs everyone. Get dressed. Fix your hair! Guests will arrive within the hour.”

“But I will need more time for my hair,” Louisa wailed.

“Just come down a little later and make an entrance,” her mother suggested. “Now get upstairs, all of you.” She waved them all out of the room.

“Miss Brown,” Phillip called from behind as she headed toward the staircase. “May I have the honor of the first dance?”

Ooh, there was one refinement she had not yet learned. “I am sorry,” she said. Never had she more fervently meant those words. “I do not dance.”

“May I have the honor of conversing with you, then, during the first dance?”

She looked at him quizzically. “Is that appropriate?”

He laughed. “Perhaps not. I am sure they will need most of the gentlemen on the floor. But I intend to explain the dance to you, and then both of us will soon be able to join in.”

“I would like that.” She meant those words with even more fervency than the previous ones.

* * * * *

“Now,” Phillip took her elbow and guided her through the crush of neighbors standing with punch glasses. “If we stand over here in the corner, you will have a good view of Juliette. For whatever her other faults may be, Charles avers that she is an excellent dancer.”

Hannah watched for a moment as the dancers curtsied and then joined hands to move in a circle, first in one direction, then the other. Then they turned hands at the corners, then they circled back to back. “This does not look so very different from the dances we do at home,” she observed hopefully.

Phillip smiled. “I did not think it would. I imagine the steps may have different names, that is all. And perhaps they are put together differently. But you should be able to manage a few simple dances at least, if someone calls the steps.”

Hannah looked to the front of the dance with dismay. “They have no caller. Our dances always have someone at the top of the room to call the steps.”

“Never mind. I shall call the steps to you.”

“Then you would have to dance every dance with me. I know that is not proper.”

“Do you care?”

She laughed. “No.”

“Neither do I.” He turned to look out at the assemblage. “I am about to do something everyone will consider improper.”

The undertone of excitement underlying his words sent a little thrill of anticipation through her as well. “And what would that be?” she asked.

“All my life,” Phillip answered, still looking out at the swirl of people around them, “I have been destined for a career in the church. My father has made no secret of his wishes, although he did give me leave to read law for a time.”

“You did have the aura of a barrister about you as you questioned my cousin,” Hannah observed.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I found the law interesting at first. But I believe in the end I would have found it an empty calling. Arguing for those who hire you, whether right or wrong. I could not live such a life for long.”

“And so you returned to the church?” she guessed.

“I did. But that too, left me cold. The established churches, that is. I agree with Wesley and others who found that our nation’s established faith has lost its fire.”

She looked up at him. “So what do you propose to do?”

“I wish to minister a flock in a dissenting church.” He continued to look away, as if uncertain what her response would be.

“A dissenting church?” she asked. “What is that? It sounds very rebellious and unruly.”

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “I agree with some tenants of Calvinism, but probably find myself most in line with the Methodists.”

“Methodists?” She leaned back in surprise. “They aren’t unruly or rebellious. We have Methodist chapels back at home. They’re as normal as any other church.”

At last he turned to look at her with a smile. “That is why I believe I would be happiest as a minister in the States.”

Her heart leapt straight up to the top of her head. “So I might see you again, after I return home!” she concluded joyfully.

His smile broadened. “You very well might. I will know no one when I arrive and will need to rely on friends until I am established.”

Her joy was cut short at the sight of Mr. Peniur headed for the punch bowl. “But your father does not wish this?”

He sighed. “No. It is about the last thing he would wish. There is no prestige or money for a minister who must preach for his supper everywhere he goes.”

“Ah,” she said, turning his advice on him yet again, “but if that is what is in the son’s best interest, then in the end, it will turn out to be in everyone’s best interests.”

“Yes. You made me see that.” With sudden movement, he took up her hand and kissed it.

“Was that appropriate?” she asked at first not certain, and then not caring.

He laughed and pointed to a sprig of mistletoe draped with the greenery on the mantel. “One of the joys of the season. More fun than ghost stories even.”

“Do not remind me!” she admonished with mock severity. “I never wish to hear the name of Belznickel ever again.

“Very well.” He gazed around the room. “To distract you, I shall look about and see if I can find any mistletoe hanging in a more convenient place.

She laughed as he walked away.

But as the music slowed, she felt a chill steal over her as she watched Juliette finish the dance with a flourish. Who had really tried to frighten her? It was most likely Phillip, she decided.

In the end, it was all a harmless prank. Phillip had secretly come to her defense. After all, no one would suspect a churchman of pretending to be an evil spirit.

Even knowing that it was done in her defense, though, she had a hard time believing he would actually write an evil message in blood. But if he hadn’t left the message, who had?

 

A cold chill came upon her again whenever she happened to look at her cousin. And she sensed that someone else was watching her, too.

She turned to look over her shoulder, but of course there was no one standing there. The window behind her showed only the uninterrupted dark of a winter night. She could see two glowing yellow lights, but those must have been the lanterns on a distant carriage.

Absolutely. That’s what they had to be.

Even though they looked more like two burning sulfurous yellow eyes.